Stages
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: They say grief comes in stages. *Grey Sky Morning verse story #3, season 9 finale spoilers, one-shot*


_**Author's Note:**__ Story #3 of my "Grey Sky Morning" universe. This is one really put me through the emotional wringer. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

"_You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp." _

― _Anne Lamott_

* * *

They say grief comes in five stages.

Developed in 1969 by Swiss-American Psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, the Kübler-Ross model details the range of emotions that people facing death or their loved ones experience as the moments tick away and death slowly comes forward. The model isn't the final word when it comes to grieving—certain people enter a stage only to remain there for the duration of their grief; some people skip stages entirely. What the model does provide is some insight for those caught in grief's iron grip.

And those that are left to care for them.

* * *

**1—Denial**

It's Charlie that Castiel first has to explain the situation to. The perky redhead shows up on their doorstep a week after Dean's death, all smiles and jokes that the angel doesn't quite understand. She knows who he is though—mentions some book series—and hugs him tightly, as if he is one of her dearest friends rather than a perfect stranger. She tells him about her time in Oz and asks him numerous questions about his being an angel and life in Heaven before she finally tilts her head to the side and asks the one question that he's been dreading.

"Where are Sam and Dean?"

There's a hopeful spark in her eyes, one that he doesn't want to extinguish, but he has no choice.

He tells her.

He explains how Dean perished and how Sam is barely functioning and all the while, he can see the way her eyes are widening, the way her breath seems to catch, how the shock is draining the color from her face and he wants to stop, but now that he's started telling this story, the words keep tumbling out.

"Dean is dead?" Charlie questions softly after he finishes. Her voice is soft that he almost misses it.

"Yes." He replies. He places a hand on her shoulder, but the contact seems to send a jolt through Charlie. She jumps up from the chair and he rises up as well. He wants to tell her something reassuring, something that could ease her pain, but meeting her red-rimmed eyes, he finds he can't.

"No." She shakes her head. "No, he's here. He has to be alive because he, Sam, and I, we're—"

"Charlie." He takes a step towards her, but she practically jumps back.

"No!" She roars, openly sobbing now. "No, Dean can't be dead. He can't!" She wraps her arms around her waist and he can feel the despair rolling off her in waves. He's never been good at comforting others, but he wants to try though part of him knows he'll fail.

"Charlie, I'm sorry." He pulls the redhead towards him, feels her sobs wrack her entire body as he holds her.

"No." She repeats, over and over again. "No, this can't be happening."

"It's okay," Castiel lies. "You're going to be okay."

As they sink to the floor, he tries to believe that himself.

* * *

**2—Anger**

Sam left a marker where they burnt Dean's body.

He finds himself being drawn there whenever the Batcave—that name brings a strangled laugh to his lips—becomes too stifling. He sits there in that empty field, his back resting up against a tree; the wind whistling by his ears. His eyes are locked on the small circle of rocks that mark the spot where Dean's body had been reduced to nothing more than ashes. His brother—larger than life, his role model—is gone.

Dean is dead.

The thought elicits a snarl from the youngest Winchester as the fury bubbles up within him. He's not sure who he's angry with—Dean, for taking on the Mark in the first place; himself, for wallowing in his own pain over being possessed and not talking to his brother; or maybe, his anger is at this world for never giving them a break. It doesn't matter though.

Nothing will bring Dean back.

For the first time in his life, Sam is truly alone.

"Is this what you wanted?" His voice is barely above a whisper carried on the wind. "You got the bad guy, but at what cost, Dean?" He lets out a ragged breath as the tears begin to sting his eyes. "You won, but you're dead!" Lifeless eyes staring back him, the cooling blood that covers his hand—he will never forget any of it. "And I'm still here, but Dean, how am I supposed to keep going on?" Did Dean ever consider him during his ruthless crusade to take down the former Queen of Hell? Did his brother care about the consequences of his actions? "What do I do, Dean?" His voice rises up to a roar. "What do I do without you now, Dean?" His knees buckle and he sinks down before the marker. "I can't do this."

For a brief second, he thinks he hates Dean for doing this, for leaving him, but he immediately takes it back.

He misses his brother.

* * *

**3—Bargaining**

"Sir?"

"What?" Crowley sighs, aggravated.

"Sir," The women standing in the doorway bites her lower lip nervously as she enters the lavishly furnished study. Since regaining the throne, Crowley has taken to splurging himself after so many months of struggling. "It's Sam Winchester."

Crowley rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"What about him?" Though the truth is, he knows what she's about to say.

"He's trying to make a deal, sir." She pushes her glasses down, frowning slightly. "Again."

"What is he willing to give up this time?" Crowley mutters, not amused by this whole prospect. He's been through this too many times before and frankly, part of him wants to go down to the youngest Winchester and knock some sense into him.

"Everything, sir."

"He burned his brother's body though." Or at least, Sam believes he did. Crowley knows better. "What does he think we are? Miracle workers?"

"Ignore him yet again, sir?" She questions.

"Cancel the rest of the deals for today and leave him be." He dismisses her with a wave and she nods, bowing respectfully as she heads to the door.

"As you wish, sir."

"What am I going to do with you, Moose?" The King of Hell mutters, taking a sip of his scotch.

He figures that's a question best left to ponder for another day.

* * *

**4—Depression**

"Garth, honey," His wife slides next to him, her face drawn in concern. "Do you want to go out there?" He lets out a shaky breath as Bess slips her hand into his. She brings it to her lips and presses a tender kiss to his hand.

"I just . . ." He stares at the text message, reading and re-reading it over and over again. He's still connected to the hunting community and word spread fast. "I should've done something."

"There was nothing you could've done." Bess assures him. "Honey, Dean was a hunter and hunters don't live long, we both know that."

"I just thought that I would die first, you know?" He gives her a watery grin. Running a hand through his hair, he lays his head on her shoulder. "I was so clumsy and naïve and Dean always was one step ahead of me." He chuckled dryly. "And now, he's gone and I don't know what to do."

She kisses his cheek and rubs comforting circles on his back.

"You'll figure it out," She tells him. "But first, you need to get up and eat, okay?"

"I'm not hungry." He replies softly.

"You haven't eaten in two days." She frowned slightly. "You need to take care of yourself."

"I know." He doesn't move from the couch. Bess sighs softly and then rises from the couch.

"I'll get you some food, okay?" She tells him softly, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

And in the silence, Garth begins to cry.

* * *

**5—Acceptance**

The two hunters always meet up at this bar every Friday night to swap stories and give advice on hunts. They've been in this life for six years now and while they are not truly prolific, the two hunters are one of the many faces in the crowd that help protect the general population.

"Did you hear that Dean Winchester died?" The older man says to his companion.

"You're fucking with me?" The younger hunter asks, shock dripping from his tone.

"It's true." He takes a swig of his beer. "Died taking out something huge, I think."

"Well, damn." The younger one mumbles. "His brother died too?"

"No. Sam's still alive from what I hear."

"Fuck."

"I know."

They both take another sip of their beers. The music and the distant chatter of the bar filling their silence. The younger one gets the attention of the bartender.

"Sir?"

"A round for everyone here." He orders and the bartender nods his head.

"What did you do that for?" The older hunter asks and the younger one smiles, raising his beer bottle.

"For Dean Winchester."

They clink bottles.

Life goes on.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Next story in this universe will focus more on Dean. Please review if you have a second. Thanks! _


End file.
